


Matchless

by PippinTheRenegade



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Soulmate AU, marius wandered off don't ask me where he went
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 22:22:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6212419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PippinTheRenegade/pseuds/PippinTheRenegade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living in Paris is hard when you're convinced you're alone in the world. With no messages from his perfect match, Grantaire wonders if he even has a soulmate at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matchless

"Still no luck?" Marius hesitated a second before setting a caring hand on Grantaire's shoulder. They hadn't been friends for long- they had shared a few friends before, met a few times, but only recently had started actually talking- but even he could tell the artist's mood had been on the way down in the past few weeks. Grantaire hid it, sure, behind smiles and drinks, but Marius had managed to weasel a confession out of him late one night: he was completely alone in the world. Not exactly what he had expected to hear, honestly, but he wasn't going to question it, just be there.

Grantaire didn't lift his head from the table, shifting his eyes to glare up at Marius. "Do you think I'd still be here if I had, Pontmercy?" he grumbled, picking at the button on his shirt sleeve.

"Oh, um. Right." Marius let his hand fall, and Grantaire shrugged his shoulders and pulled himself in tighter around the table edge. This had to be hard for him, never having gotten anything; even before he had met Cosette, Marius had known her through her writings. The words had been an ever-present thing, etched in a light curling hand on his arm or hand whenever she wanted to share something with him. She had gotten him through some hard times before with bits of poetry or small drawings to make him smile, even though she couldn't have known.

To not have that? Well, it wasn't a surprise that Grantaire had a drinking problem, all things considered. From what Marius understood, his home life had been hell to say the least, and this certainly didn't help.

Grantaire stirred again, turning to stare out the window at the people on the street and sneer. "The injustice of it all," he muttered, making a face at a laughing couple as they passed the cafe window. "I'm a good person, Marius. Might not seem like it all the time, but I am, I swear. I'm funny and talented and, okay, maybe the drinking is a bit of a turn-off, but, come on. Instead, no, instead of doing something useful for once, the universe has destined me to spend my life-" A snicker from behind him cut his speech short, and he turned his glare on Marius instead of the strangers. "I'm sorry, Marius, is this boring for you?"

Marius stammered and stuffed a hand in his pocket. "What? No! No, it's just that Cosette saw a dog, and she likes to write down little jokes about stuff she sees, and that one was really good, and... and this is not helping you at all, is it. No, sorry." He was still smiling, though, and Grantaire rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't stress over it so much, though. I'm sure you've got someone out there. Maybe they just don't write."

"Great. So you're saying my soulmate is illiterate. Or hates me. Or is dead."

Okay, this wasn't helping. Marius glance to the wall clock and frowned; they were supposed to meet up with everyone else in less than an hour. Perhaps a change of venue and company might be a little better. "We do need to leave soon," he said, fidgeting with the edge of his coat. "Do you want anything before we go?"

"Absinthe."

"Pretty sure they don't serve that here."

Grantaire undid one of his sleeves and pushed it up to his elbow. "Then get me a pen."

  
The walk over was fairly quiet. Grantaire scribbled away on his arm, muttering to himself the whole while; Marius made sure the artist didn't run into anything or trip over children. They didn't speak but a few words the entire way, mostly just Marius trying to get Grantaire's attention about something. By the time they reached the doors of the Musain, though, the ink on his arm was nearly dry, and Grantaire looked far more upbeat than before.

Inside was already loud and busy, the usual faces intermingled with a few new ones here and there. Grantaire snatched a glass off the bar and had it nearly half drained by the time he grabbed a seat at the center table. He tugged his sleeve back to where it belonged and settled in to spend the next while looking for some hint of his message on someone else. Marius, meanwhile, slipped off to find Courfeyrac- he would know what to say. Probably.

The front door opened again, and Grantaire couldn't help but smile as Enjolras entered to a chorus of cheers. He really was like an angel, a god among men, that image of perfection that the myths all spoke of. Grantaire had been captivated from the moment they met, couldn't help it any more than he could hold back the pining sigh that escaped him as he watched. Flanked by Combeferre and Courfeyrac- Marius had mentioned wanting to find Courfeyrac, he recalled- Enjolras greeted anyone who spoke to him, practically glowing with pride, before he made his way to the center table and stood across from Grantaire.

"Ah, _mon ange_ ," the artist said with a smile. "Do you allow me in your presence today, or should I move?"

"Are you drunk already?"

"Not yet, no."

"Then stay." Enjolras grabbed a chair. "Where have you been all day? I usually see you before this."

Grantaire shrugged. "Different cafe, different part of town. Marius was there. He's around here somewhere. I- Hey!" He pointed at Enjolras wrist, trying not to get his hopes up. He could see the edge of something there, that much was for sure. "Roll up your sleeve."

Enjolras gave him an odd, questioning stare but complied. With the fabric gone, the words confirmed what he already suspected. A large, flowing script took up all of Enjolras' forearm, spelling out in dark letters " _ **ARE YOU REAL?**_ " It was his question, Grantaire's, asked in his hand, on the one person in all the world he was sure was not his to have, no matter how hard he wished it.

Grantaire's heart skipped a beat. "No way. You?" he breathed, his voice just a whisper. He stared at the swirled letters, fighting a wild grin and losing. It was true, all of it. "It's been you this whole time. I never would have thought..."

Enjolras blinked at him, still confused. "What are you going on about?"

"Hold on." Grantaire's hand shook as he fought with the sleeve again, pulling at the fabric until they could see the embelleshed lettering on his own arm, perfectly matching the lighter mark Enjolras bore. He waited a minute of awkward quiet, shoving away the murmurs from the crowd, then added, "See?"

Enjolras seemed unfazed. "I know."

"You know? For how long?"

"A while. You don't think I know your handwriting by now?" There was a hint of a laugh in Enjolras' voice, and was that a smile?

"A while! You never said anything!" Grantaire sounded panicked by contrast. "Never wrote anything. I thought they- you- didn't exist or hated me or-"

"Grantaire," Enjolras said softly, and the artist stopped, almost frozen. "I don't write on myself, simple as that."

"You should start."


End file.
